From the Ashes
by GyromitraEsculenta
Summary: Post-movie. AU/timeline/NotEarth616. Intended Thor/Loki. Not Happy. Armada approaches and Loki Laufeyson dies. Chapter 9: No-one dies, yet again. Slight crack not really . "Because there is no justice in the world and much rest for the wicked in his bed, apparently."
1. Chapter 1

**_Author's Note:_**Post-Avengers, mostly NOT Earth 616. Intended Thor / Loki, other pairings possible. Future warnings: gore, character death, dub-con. Written in drabble format til I get to work.

_**This Part's Warnings**_: None save Purple Prose and grammar mistakes.

**_From the Ashes: Teaser_**

The acrid taste of smoke and gore in his mouth grows intolerable, and he surges upwards, coughing, wheezing, falling down again, scraping his fingers on the rubble. Dry heaving as the bile rises in his throat.

The static electricity in the air makes his skin itch and prickle and as he looks up he can't help but feel the wrongness of everything with the very core of his being, a sharp knife of fear twisting in his guts with strange exultation. The city it burns. And here he stands in a pool of blood, so much blood, and his hands are covered with it. His face stings with drying crimson.

The city burns all around and the coppery tang of storm grows stronger and stronger yet, culminating in a pillar of lightning just before him. He has no time to flinch as Thor, his cape torn and in tatters, hair reddened with battle, Mjollnir in hand, looks up at him.

"Brother," Thunderer's eyes are brimming with emotions, his face unguarded, and Loki realizes it is something akin to hate or almost hate, the passion makes him step back with a pained gasp. He tries to reach for his magics and yet, there are none that he can use now.

Thor closes the gap and binds his arm in none too gentle grip.

"Brother," he snarls and Loki is frozen in place as if he were a deer surrounded by wolves, his thoughts frantically dancing everywhere around in panic like hooves on snow.

"Brother," Loki whimpers in response, all silver words stripped from him in this very moment, left bare and trembling.

And then he is knocked back, thrown to the ground carelessly as arrows fly a hair's breadth from his face. Too much. Too confusing. Too lost. Everything hurts.

"Get away from him!" He faintly recognizes the voice and looks up to see a streak of red and gold in the air headed for them, but to his astonishment it is Thor that braces up and hurls himself to meet the enemy. And they clash with a rolling sound of thunder slowly washing over everything.

"Got you," Loki looks up at Captain's face and beyond it the heavens are flush with red and fire and metal and things born from horrors existing past the boundaries of reality. He feels relief as darkness of unconsciousness claims him.


	2. FtA: The Fall

**_Author's Note_**: Post-Avengers, mostly NOT Earth 616. Intended Thor / Loki, other pairings possible. Future warnings: gore, character death, dub-con. Written in drabble format til I get to work.

**_This Part's Warnings_**: Gore, character death. Purple Prose and grammar mistakes.

**_From the Ashes: The Fall_**

They have come and Loki feels only deep and insidious dread constricting his lungs - and still he will not give a voice to it. He refuses, his face a facade of usual indifference. Worlds burn as Armada slowly makes its way towards the main destination.

And this - here, now - is only an advanced vanguard, that he knows. They still have time, even if some voice in his ear whispers seethingly they have ran out of it years ago. Death and destruction. Chaos. He smirks and jumps, falling, his cape billowing in the wind - it's a thing of sentiment, useless like all the rest he carries with him.

"Touchdown, Stark," Loki mutters as dust settles and he rises. There is no space to breath, no space to think and he runs unparalleled in his grace, dealing his own brand of death and destruction with the cold fires burning at the tips of his fingers.

Scorching inferno explodes everywhere around and Loki laughs mirthlessly for his enjoyment is a hollow one. They still have time and every precious second trickles away in the invisible hourglass like blood dripping from his fingers. With every day Armada comes closer and the portals become bigger, more stable, more dangerous.

Scorching inferno explodes everywhere around and Loki concentrates when an enormous creature of perverted flesh and twisted metal draws near. Magic pulses through his fingers and exertion makes him falter, but the beast slows and almost - almost - stops. Its progress is minute but unmistakable and the body thrashes while trying to reach the thing restraining it.

"I need support on the leviathan," he spats hastily when his shields flicker under the rain of debris, glass and stone and Allfather knows what else. Not that he cares personally. No, he does not, save for a few sentiments he keeps close to his heart, ones that broke him and break him still.

"Artillery coming."

But then everything happens too fast to even notice and he is cast aside, painfully, the beast crashing into him amidst an unearthly shriek. He has had worse.

"Trickster's down."

He has had worse, Loki tells himself and grips for purchase. There is none. None save the jagged spike of metal piercing his shoulder and another sticking out from his abdomen and another one that seems just about like skewering his heart. He tries to say something that comes out like a wet gurgle and slowly, so ever slowly, his head falls back, to look at the sky flush with red and fire and metal and things born from horrors existing past the boundaries of reality.

The smell of blood and storm is in the air.

Loki Laufeyson is dead.


	3. FtA: Arisen

_**Author's Note**_: Finally, Earth 616. After that one we will enter a slightly more coherent story, what with having estabillished our setting.

_**This Part's Warnings**_: Gore, kind of character death. Purple Prose and grammar mistakes.

_**From the Ashes: Arisen**_

Loki Laufeyson is dead.

His body floats serenely in the calmness of the Void illuminated by stars face tranquil and eyes slightly ajar. He is a thing of beauty. Crystalline sprays of frozen blood follow him like glittering branches of Yggdrasil, jewelry fit for king. Mangled flesh blooms crimson flowers.  
There is no sound when bare tendrils of electricity start to dance around, fluttering, searching, touching. Strands of it quiver on his silvery skin and everywhere the cold lightning flickers the flesh repairs itself, the muscle, tendons and skin knit and weave meticulously together.

Then nothing.

And suddenly, with a pulse of blinding white flash, he spasm and glimmers in transparency.

He screams. He wails. He makes no sound as his fingers frantically tear at the metal contraption stealing his words his life. And as swiftly as before the movement now the stillness overcomes him, for he sees the ships that slowly drift above and below him, dark, menacing.

Armada is here. He does not know where here is but it bears no importance.

And he WILL. NOT. GO. DOWN. WITHOUT. FIGHT!

Filigree fountains of frozen blood break into myriads of shimmering fragments as he twists and banefire lights his fingers.

Loki Laufeyson is alive, yet he does not expect to remain as such for long now


	4. From the Ashes: The Fall Prelude

_**Author's Note**_: Suddenly, plot happens. I'm as surprised as You.

_**This Part's Warnings**_: Pretty much none except Purple Prose, grammar mistakes and poor characterization. Oh, and Loki Pajamas.

~~##~~

_**From the Ashes: The Fall – Prelude**_

"Well, boys and girls, apparently we DO have a situation on our hands, said situation – other than oncoming invasion - being one very dead Asgardian magicking himself out of dead-house, not to mention being alive, though not particularly well, judging by the full on diva hysterics. Not that it differs much from the usual."

"Not helping," Steve shots Tony extremely dirty look.

"Never intended. Besides, now we have two dead Asgardians and one of them, as I'm being told, is still in the freezer, more dead than our dear friend here," Tony articulates animatedly with his hands. "And dearest crazy what's-his-face walking hair care commercial shows again after what, two months of relative, and I say relative, peace. Well, call me Daisy, I need a drink."

"You always need a drink."

"That's the point." Tony smirks while cradling his glass. "And no-one saw our dear dainty Ice Princess show himself on the ground till we had Sparky come and light some fireworks. So what does that tell us?"

"Nothing. Unless someone wants us to think that this is Loki and he isn't," Natasha offers calmly. "No footage of the area was recovered from any recording devices except post factum."

"Which takes us full circle because this is Loki and his biometrics check out one hundred. So either this is him and someone tries to make us doubt that, or it's not him and someone wants to bullshit us otherwise. And mark my words, my bullshit detector is going off the charts here." Tony punctuates his words with a wave of an outstretched finger. "Correct me, if I'm wrong, but doesn't that actually look like something Ice Princess would do just to mess with our heads a bit?"

"I would, wouldn't I?" Loki's voice is indifferent as he stands in the doorway with his arms crossed. This inhuman lack of emotion is there when they all know he is at his most guarded, ready to lash out at any danger he perceives. Clint gives a light shake of his head behind the Asgardian and everyone relaxes, at least a bit.

"Oh, was I thinking aloud again? Sorry."

"No, do continue. Do not hold back on my behalf," Trickster sneers, muscles under his bandages twitching. Tony, of course, completely ignores any and all warning looks. And especially Steve standing up.

"So, are you you or aren't you? Because if you aren't you, give back those pants, they have sentimental value and don't belong to you."

There is a flash of cold in Loki's eyes that would normally mean Tony is going to be in pain – or at least metaphorical pain – but then pale Asgardian looks down thoughtfully, contemplating. Tony must agree that those pajama bottoms are nice, dark green silk and all that golden embroidery.

"But they do belong to me, don't they?" He moves from the doorway and sits on the couch, mindful of the attention.

"What do you remember?" It is Natasha's turn now and Loki is not surprised. He opens his mouth to answer only to be halted when Steve puts hand on his arm.

"You don't have to if you don't feel up to it, you know, right?" Blond says with concern that makes Loki wrinkle his brow.

"Not much," Loki mutters, finally. "Like standing beside myself with no recollection of how I came to be here."

"Been there, done that, didn't have to be autopsied, though." There is another scorching glare from Steve and Tony pretends to be mortally wounded.

They trust him, actually trust him, Loki discovers with surprise and turns that into his advantage. With his magic gone and his body wounded he is going to use everything and everyone he can to preserve himself and they can provide such protection. For now.


	5. From the Ashes: The Fall Emergence

_**Author's Note**_: There's plot, but then wild mindscrew appears.

_**This Part's Warnings**_: Purple Prose and gore.

**~~oOo~~**

_**From the Ashes: The Fall – Emergence **_

**~~oOo~~**_**  
**_

They let him roam relatively free abroad the Helicarrier. They think him placid and harmless, and with his magicks gone it could very well be true, but Loki has more than one trick up his sleeve, none disclosed earlier. For now he waits and listens, sometimes lets himself be amazed.

They show him his own chambers and he can't help but concede he did live there even if they are naught but bare. The way the chair rests slightly shifted from the desk at just the right angle, the shade of crude painting on the wall, it's there, all in the subtle clues. A change of clothes in the drawer; book on the shelf; pen and notebook under the bed.

Torn and bloodied armor in the closet.

He finds it curiously endearing that those little humans were so wrapped up in their little dealings they have forgotten to remove it - or even better - left it here because of some unknowable purpose.

The suit of armor strangely intrigues him and Loki gazes at it, perplexed. The rips are vicious, back and front, through and through. He looks, ponders and abruptly turns, shaken from his reverie by the sudden lack of sound.

"Sorry. I didn't know it was still here," Natasha observes him.

"It is of no consequence, I do not remember."

"Are you… all right?"

Loki reminds himself she is the most dangerous one around, except himself.

"Does not matter. I have no personal feelings concerning goings-on I have not experienced firsthand." She finds that sufficient.

"I'll send someone to dispose…"

"I'd prefer it repaired," Loki stops her. "Those… mundane vestments make me uneasy. I long for the comfort of familiarity."

She nods in understanding and turns.

"You and Agent Barton are close," Natasha tenses for a briefest of moments.

"It shouldn't come as a surprise, not after what he had done for me."

"No, it doesn't," Loki whispers while evading her in the doorway. "But you're not nearly as close as you would like you both to be."

Natasha purses her lips and shakes slightly, be that with mirth or anger.

"Sometimes… sometimes I'd really like to know what's in your head."

"War drums," his voice sends shivers down her spine, freezes her breath. "The sound of war drums."

Loki exits the room not waiting for her to follow. She does, predictably.

He himself tracks the trail of blood on the floor, still fresh, red, moist - droplets falling from fingers of the hand that fell off the gurney, twitching, spasming – memory still present in this place to one that knows how to read it. He walks along the ghost of his own body, with cold disinterest noting that they do try to heal him with their backward arts. Finally, Loki stops at the entrance to the operating theatre.

"You think I died here," the pale Asgardian spares Natasha a glance as the other humans shock his body. Blood splatters on the walls and glass panes. "But the likes of me – my kind – we do not die like your kind does. I was dead before even brought here, when the Norns decided my death and now something, or someone, swayed the verdict."

Another shock, another spray of crimson. Glamours of his shape keep well. High pitched wail of the device chasing his life. The memory ends.

"It is worrisome that I yet live," Loki gazes at his hands. The bandages start to seep red and his vision clouds. The fingers he brings up come away from his eyes painted with blood. "And the fate still fights back," he whispers, falling down.


	6. From the Ashes: Arisen Awe

_**Author's Note**_: It's all mindscrew, but then we get to some (overly) subtle hints of Thor/Loki. It all makes sense in my head, I promise

_**This Part's Warnings**_: Purple Prose and mindscrew.

**~~oOo~~**

_**From the Ashes: Arisen - Awe**_

_**~~oOo~~**_

He is death incarnate. He is anguish, sorrow and pain, desperation and devastation - were it not for the fetters he wears he would scream himself raw. The loss is too much to bear so he becomes what he must be, dulls himself to the world. And all is well for there is no sound.

The ship falls apart around him and Loki snarls, feral under his gag. Destruction vibrates under his skin, lines of electricity all too familiar and welcomed. He is a God of Chaos and everything burns.

Everything must burn, in honor of those that have died; he will suffer none of the responsible alive.

His thoughts change and Loki shifts space and time in blue glimmer. Nothing will be left alive. Explosions pierce the next ship as he dispatches Chitauri soldiers and workers with clinical precision.

And then he is pulled yet again by blue mist, switched between places and moments. Loki stands before the Throne and challenges wordlessly the One that sits upon it. Lets him see and understand and as He rises to command him, Loki steps back and falls again, seeking refuge in the welcoming and numb brilliant blue.

He walks the Golden Halls, shrouded in his cloak of shadow, and slips through the doors unnoticed. He had done that many times before. He will do that again. But he stops for a moment before he moves again, passing through wood almost as if he were a ghost. Maybe he is, Loki thinks. It would not be a surprise to him for all the torment that is his now.

Loud snoring makes him chuckle hysterically. Or would, if Loki could do anything of sorts at the moment. He moves and gracefully scales the bed, leaning over its sole occupant. The blade he summons touches with its tip Thor's neck and faded green meets radiant blue.

"Brother," Thunderer whispers and it is a broken sound full of amazement. Loki brings up his free hand to ghost his fingers over the Asgardian's cheek.

In silent wonder Loki's restraints fall down – seemingly of their own volition.

"Do not fret, Brother," Loki leans down, placing a soft kiss on the other man's brow. "I will kill them all. For what they did to me. To us."

Thor does not answer. Loki's madness has been replaced by different kind of lunacy, one that is all deranged claws and laughter and sorrow; deep sorrow that even he can feel stirring in his guts.

"They will pay."

"Loki," Thor tries to capture the vision but fails when his brother falls back in brilliant blue and slowly dissolves, looking at him as he again switches places.

There is an ache deep inside where a small fragment of the Tessaract buried itself, and now, Loki screams into the Void, where no one and nothing can hear him even when he speaks.


	7. From the Ashes: The Fall Edge

_**Author's Note**_: Plot and (near) character death.

_**This Part's Warnings**_: Purple Prose and near death.

**~~oOo~~**

_**From the Ashes: The Fall - Edge**_

**~~oOo~~**_**  
**_

There is a dull ache somewhere deep inside Loki cannot pinpoint and understand; a lingering discomfort fraying at the edges of his tenuous grasp on reality and consciousness. It is different from physical pain and more terrifying. He gasps for air, great desperate gulps, and ignores the shouts. They do not matter.

What matters is the shining point, unblemished, immaculate, just out of his reach and Loki fights to touch it, to grasp it with his own fingers. He screams. He thrashes against the restraints. Loki needs it, longs for it; it is a vital part of him.

The hum of machines, the smell of ozone, they bother him and he wails fighting to get free.

Everything calms when his heart gives out. Ten seconds later there is a gasp when adrenaline gets it going again.

**~~oOo~~**

Loki lies in the infirmary, paler than ever. Slow beep informs anyone who wants to know that he is still alive.

"If I didn't know better I'd say we're dealing with a case of superhuman hemorrhagic fever, and the possibility is worrisome itself, but that, it doesn't stop," Bruce is reading the charts. "It continues until it kills or is fought off, not recedes and attacks again."

"He was acting feverish," Natasha points. "Definitely seeing something no-one else saw there and almost interacting."

"It's a name. Symptoms usually don't include hallucinations."

"But bleeding… Some nerve agent we don't know?"

"In this case I'd say his body is just plainly shutting down on him, nothing more. Nothing less."

"He said," Natasha wonders loudly," that someone was changing 'fate' and 'fate' was fighting back."

"Natasha," Bruce smiles tiredly. "We work alongside World War II super soldier, being that is a god according to the stories, there's me too, or that Parker kid that sticks to the walls. We fight aliens, mutants, and whatever else crawls from under the rocks. Fate is not such a farfetched concept, I think, depending on the definition."

"No, I guess it isn't, especially to find comfort in…" An alarm goes off and Natasha puts her hand on the gun at her hip. Bruce stares at the panel in front of him.

"Impossible."

Inside the glass room Loki stirs and curls on himself, moaning in burning pain that shuts everything out. The hum of machines, the smell of blood and ozone, it bothers him, and the loss he cannot comprehend spreads through his being. He does not register slight blue hue that envelops him for a split second.

"Impossible," Bruce repeats. "Tessaract radiation. This… This shouldn't happen."

But the proof, the readings, is just before his eyes, and Bruce watches in amazement as instruments show a corresponding spike every time blue energy swirls around the Asgardian. And at the same time the Tessaract itself reacts to each and every pulse.

"Who the fuck is trying to take over the world at four in the morning?" Tony shouts over the intercom.


	8. From the Ashes: Arisen Rubicon

_**Author's Note**_: Plot and (near) character death.

_**This Part's Warnings**_: Purple Prose and near death. Some Loony if you squint really hard. Really really hard.

* * *

_**~~oOo~~**_

_**From the Ashes: Arisen – Rubicon**_

_**~~oOo~~**_

* * *

There is a certain ease in the way Loki slips and slinks through the bustling city, clinging to shadows and not letting himself be shaken more than needed by the wrongness permeating the air, some vague idea of a smell. He is tired, more tired than he should, and needs a place he can roll into himself and restore some of his wits, just enough to continue for another day. He cannot spare more.

There is only few people and one place he trusts for protection, so far, and he waits until the doors open for him. Then, the matter is a simple twist of reality around his fingers.

Loki stretches and observes the man sleeping under the covers.

"Stark," the Asgardian leans over the bed, somehow amused as Tony sits up in a very undignified manner.

"Seriously… When I get whoever spiked my drinks, I'll force-feed them my own liver…"

"Very astute, mister Stark."

It is enough to bring the inventor to full attention.

"You are dead."

"I am rather painfully aware of the present state of my existence, I will not deny," Loki pulls back with a dangerous chuckle, slightly unhinged; he does not notice his hands trembling. "There is something to be said about oneself waking up from slumber eternal in the middle of Armada."

"You've got to be shitting me," Tony knows he should be afraid, but most importantly he is surprised, and pretty sure if it weren't for that condition of his he would be down right now with a fucking heart attack.

"Wish I were, but the state of affairs does not allow for such folly. Apparently, on my way back, I have ever so graciously offered Thanos a gesture equivalent of, as you would have said, 'flipping the royal bird'."

Tony is pretty sure this shit is far too out there to be real. Must be.

"You gave the finger to magical glowy alien dude that's bringing a fucking army to kill us all?"

"It appeared a reasonable course of action, at that given moment in time," Loki starts to peel off his armor, burnt and torn, caked with old blood, and he does that slowly. Tearing it from skin hurts.

"And I was pretty sure you're a completely unlikable asshole."

"Like you yourself, Stark?"

"Touché."

"I also did pay a familial visit to my brother," Loki strips the last of his garments and just slides under the sheets like he owns the place. It is infuriating. "And I ask you dearly to keep that deranged lout away from me for the time being. I need rest, and a lot of it…"

The Asgardian drifts off into the realm of sleep upon finishing his sentence. Tony won't be sleeping anymore. Possibly for weeks. No, he makes a mental note. At least months.

Stark suits up and gets Fury on the line. His psychiatrist too. Sadly, not at the same time.


	9. From the Ashes: Arisen Adage

_**Author's Note**_: More plot.

_**This Part's Warnings**_: Purple Prose and Boners.

_**~~oOo~~**_

_**From the Ashes: Arisen – Adage**_

_**~~oOo~~**_

Truth is Tony hasn't got the slightest idea how to deal with the situation. However, he would first let himself be thrown out of the window again before admitting that. So he sits on the couch facing the door to his private bedroom, clad in his suit, and drinking, while Jarvis monitors the sleeping god. Buck naked, usually perfectly homicidal and, till recently, most certainly dead god. Not to mention the asshole invaded Tony's very bed like it was his own, with no regards for personal space.

Not that he was going to complain - too much, at least – since he got out without losing some of his extremities and Tony would like to keep it this way, thank you very much.

So he sits, drinks and cannot help thinking this Loki is either different from the one he – they – knew, or the 'god' is pulling a boner of century. (Here Tony almost giggles because, honestly, boner – it is giggle worthy even when completely sober and not under duress. All Steve's fault for introducing him to the world of vintage comic books full of words once innocuous . Tony decides he will get around to introducing Steve to the Internet.)

When Natasha arrives with Clint in tow he just sips his next glass of scotch.

"I'm drunk, Fury's an ass, and he's there," Tony points at the bedroom in response to Russian's elegant eyebrow rising.

"Our uninvited guest is definitely asleep," Jarvis decides to add to the discussion. "Preliminary scans show many bone fractures and tissue scarring not present during last known scan."

"Thank you, Jarvis. Only you believe in me."

"I was programmed that way, sir."

Great. Even his AI decides to diss him now. Because there is no justice in the world and much rest for the wicked in his bed, apparently.

"So if he's real and not something Doom or that other guy cooked up, I can shoot him?" Hawkeye is rather enthusiastic about the prospect. Tony waves him off.

"Just don't stain the sheets," he mutters, drowned out by a roar of thunder rolling down rumbling along with the lightning. Air becomes coppery in taste and static electricity makes their hair rise slightly. That is the exact reason why the Avengers Tower is adorned with the most spectacular lightning rod Tony could muster. "I think that answers your question, right?"

Two things happen. Loki stands in the doorway, panicked, his eyes searching for an escape, sheets clutched to his chest, visible skin covered with scars that should not be there and dried blood.

Thor strides in and locks his sight on the other Asgardian, his face full of hope ready to be crushed.

"No, he shouldn't…"

"Brother."

The air almost solidifies in the blast of sudden cold and ice crystals spread around the slighter man. His fingers turn blue as glittering blades grow from them. Loki snarls, almost feral.

"Don't come any closer or, so help me Void, I will end you, you blithering fool!" Thunderer minds that not. He closes the distance between them and draws Loki into embrace that leaves the younger shaken and his ice receding.

"Brother. Loki. You live," Thor whispers.

They all see something visibly – audibly – breaking in Loki's eyes, some sudden understanding making him fall crumpled to the ground with a choked off sob.

"No. I had not… It is all wrong. All wrong."

"Brother."

Loki shakes his head and with sudden gentleness touches Thor's cheek.

"I'm not your brother, Thor," he looks at the rest of the Avengers present over Thunderer's shoulder. "And you are not the men I know."


End file.
